Urban Legend - A new beginning (Cross POI DD)
by Arches67
Summary: (9th story in the Urband Legend Universe, Person of Interest / Daredevil crossover)- Life starts anew once John is finally on his two feet. Of course, he can count on the support of Daredevil.
1. Chapter 1

AN/ This chapter takes place after "The Defenders", watch out for spoilers. This story will make no sense if you are unfamiliar with my Urban Legend universe. Also note that this crossover has now switched to the Marvel universe.

Never say never again… I should know by now… And once again, this is all Yellowstone69's fault. She sent me the following text message: "John entered the code sent by Thornhill. He went down the stairs and stopped when the cold end of a gun touched his neck". How could I resist?

A special thanks to my awesome betareader, Zendog, who helped me fine tune this story.

* * *

John Reese was standing on the roof top of the Avengers Tower. Over the last few months it had become his favorite place in the building. A fact which had evidently been noticed by the owner as little by little, the barren space had become home to some chairs and a small table. The Tower had real terraces and balconies, but this was only a rooftop that gave access to technical machinery and chimneys. The fact that elements of comfort had appeared proved how much he was being taken care of… and watched.

By now, he could describe the view with his eyes closed and now since he could stand up again he could see much farther away. Here, in this place, he felt safe and at peace. Something he had rarely experienced in his life.

He was still using a crutch to assist with walking. He could do without it, but the doctors had repeatedly insisted that he needed to take it easy and give his body time to heal itself. John had found out, the hard way, that he should really listen to their advice. The last time he had "forgotten" his crutch, his back had painfully complained for having to compensate for his still weak leg. The doctors had promised it would get better in time.

Over the past few weeks, he had been thinking about leaving the Tower. He felt that he was way past overstaying. But life here, far from the real world, was comfortable. He knew the day he left that he wouldn't be coming back; that a new life would begin. Here, in the Tower, he felt that he was allowing himself some time off. Time he would never find again.

The door behind him opened and he turned around in surprise. The only person who came to meet him here was Matt, and he had already been there earlier. There was no reason for him to come back.

"So this is where you hide," Tony Stark said, casting a look about him.

John raised an eyebrow. Stark had never come up here. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen anyone up here, besides Matt. Much like the place belonged to him.

"Thank you for the furniture" John answered.

Tony dismissed the thanks with a wave of his hand "Jarvis told me that you came here quite often. It seemed natural to make the place more welcoming." He observed the rooftop with more attention. "You do know that we have a couple of dedicated balconies that are really nice?" He stared at the metal air-conditioning boxing and winced in disgust. "Although perhaps that's the reason you feel comfortable in this place."

He sat on one of the chairs and invited John to join him.

"Despite our best efforts, you've never felt at home here," Stark concluded.

"The suite I've been using since I left the medical wing is gorgeous. It would be rude and unthinking to complain. But I believe I have outstayed my welcome. I will of course see to it that all expenses are covered as soon as I have the means."

"And I will make sure to throw you off this very roof top if you ever mention any expenses again." Tony raised his hand to stop John's protest. "You were most welcome here. I'm pretty sure the medical staff was quite glad to have a "normal" patient for once. Superheroes can be tricky to treat" he added as if revealing a confidence.

"Thank you again for all your help, you and your team."

"It's part of our job. Saving the world, even if sometimes it's just one person at a time."

Stark settled more comfortably in the chair.

"So, how long has it been now? Ten months?" His eyes went over John's body. "When I saved you from the explosion, I never thought you would be in this shape someday. To tell you the truth, for a minute, I really thought the most decent thing to do would be to let you die in the rubble. You were a mess."

"Your medical team is incredible."

"Yes, it is. They have had to face really unusual situations. They are able to manage quite a few miracles."

"It's a good thing doctors are sworn to secrecy," John kidded.

"Funny that you would speak of secrecy, John…"

Stark left a few seconds of silence, giving John time to get ready for the rest of the conversation.

"As I said, it was a pleasure having you at the Tower."

"The pleasure was mine. Having the chance to meet the members of the Avengers has been quite an honor."

"Which brings me to the reason for my coming here to your terrace."

"This is not my terrace!"

"Have you ever seen anyone else up here?"

"Huh… as a matter of fact, no." But John had sincerely thought this was due to the less than welcoming environment, not because he had somehow claimed it as his own.

"And that is the question that has been bugging everyone here. The same question that I have been wondering about since I saw you being used as target practice on that building roof top. Who are you exactly John?"

John couldn't help an amused smile. He had been expecting the question from the very moment he had learnt who had saved him.

"Matt has been much less patient than you. It's been months since he grilled for an answer. Of course, we had known each over for about two years already…"

"Yeah, but Matt guesses things," Stark mumbled.

"He guesses?" John repeated.

"You know exactly what I mean. That guy is weird."

"Weird? Says the man with a machine in his heart," John pointed out.

"May I remind you that you have now enough metal in your body to get arrested every time you go through a security gate?"

John winced. He had seen the x-rays. Most were scary. And if some prosthesis had only been used temporarily, he still had enough nails and plates in his body to alert most metal detectors. Automatic weapons were not kind on the human body.

"In some ways, you kind of deserve a place of your own in this Tower, John."

John breathed out. He had no reason to hide his life from Stark. He owed him his life, and his past belonged to a dead man, twice dead… Maybe telling all of it to someone who wouldn't judge him would be liberating.

"I used to be a soldier, then a CIA agent…"

* * *

 _New York, a few days later_

John pushed the door and stepped out onto the curb.

This was the first time he left the Tower since the "incident". "The day I found myself on a roof top in order to save the world from an evil Artificial Intelligence, had to face a death squadron and a long reach missile after having lied to my best friend to save his life" was a longer explanation. "Incident" summed it up nicely and was easier to use. And Matt had laughed out loud congratulating him for his talent for shortcuts the first time John had used the word.

The noise assaulted him and he couldn't help a step back, almost tempted for a moment to rush back inside, into the comfortable silence of the building. He had never turned his back on a challenge, he wasn't about to back down because of some noisy horns. But if intellectually he had made his decision, his body hadn't answered as fast and his heart was drumming.

A hand caught his elbow and directed him down onto the street. After his initial surprise, he let himself be guided toward the small secluded park next door. By the time they made it to the gates, he was back to his senses and he took the lead toward a bench.

"The blind man leading the seeing one; I guess we must have caused some double takes," John commented a smile in his voice.

"Are you feeling better? Your pulse was crazy; I thought you were going to have a heart attack when you stepped out," Matt explained, his head slightly bowed, clearly still listening to things only he could hear.

"So who is spying on who now?" John asked.

Matt raised his hands. "Guilty as charged."

"You'll have to explain this one though. I know about your special gift, but how you knew when I was going to come outside is beyond me."

Matt laughed. "I may have used your talents this time."

"Shot a couple of knees to obtain information?"

Matt winced and John bit back a smile.

"I've made friends at the Tower. Your agenda is not really top secret."

"Agenda? I haven't had much of an agenda for months."

"You mean when you're not undergoing some physical therapy or any related torture?"

Then of course… John did spend most of his days in therapy. He had actually planned his walk outside after his last session.

"Yesterday you told me you would be going outside today." Matt folded his stick. "How does it feel to be free?"

"I was free to go out anytime," John reminded him.

"Just not ready; I know. Weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah…"

John hadn't really been afraid of going out, but after the explosion his whole life had blown to pieces - literally. This wasn't the first time he was "dead". The previous time, taking care of Jessica's murderer had taken precedence over everything. Once his mission had been accomplished, his life hadn't had any meaning anymore. He had almost put an end to it.

This time, behind the protective walls of the Tower, and having promised Stark that he would not kill himself (even though that hadn't been in his mind at the time), the situation had been different. He was safe. His only objective was to get his health back; he had no decisions to make. He wasn't a prisoner, but he had somehow behaved much the same. Leaving all the decisions to his "guardians". As he had said once, some of his best vacations had been in prison.

Going out meant taking control of his life back, with the obligations it would entail: facing society again, finding an apartment, getting a job… although as regards jobs, he knew he had a position waiting for him when he felt ready.

He looked around him. He still couldn't believe the noise level. It had never bothered him in the past, but the months spent indoors, in relative silence, had made him forget about New York's incessant traffic. He watched Matt, wondering about his hyper sensitive hearing. No wonder Matt enjoyed the rooftop terrace so much.

"I'm pretty sure Stark wouldn't mind if you keep using his building rooftop," he commented.

"Sorry?" Matt asked dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"I was thinking about the noise. How much it must bother you. I never realized how stressful it must be for you."

"I'm used to it," Matt answered with a shrug.

"When I see how my body reacted after only a few months… Thank you."

"You're welcome. I thought you were going to turn around without giving yourself a second chance."

"Almost did, I'll admit." John breathed in deeply. "It would have been a pity. It's about time I start to live again."

"So you've made your decision? You're going back to work for…" Matt bent closer and lowered his voice, "the Machine?"

"I'll need to get myself a place to live too. I doubt my flat is still available…"

"Not necessarily. You're dead. No direct heirs. The city cannot get hold of your goods that quickly. Your apartment is most probably still empty… apart from the dust." Matt straightened up. "Let me check that out for you."

"Not bad having an attorney for a friend," John whispered.

"I cannot do anything about your job though."

"That's the easy part." John turned his head toward a camera facing the bench. "I'm ready," he stated watching the lens.

"Who are you talking to?"

"There's a camera just in front of us."

"You think She's watching you?"

"She sees everything Matt. It will only be seconds before She spots me among the millions of images she gathers."

And as if to confirm his statement, his phone buzzed.

"What does She say?" Matt asked not bothering to hide his curiosity, and totally at ease with the Machine's existence.

After the first initial shock when John had revealed "his secret", Matt had just accepted it as part of John's life. In order to ensure the citizens' safety, some means justified the end. He had even integrated the female denomination of the Machine.

John opened the message. An address and some access codes.

"Where to go…"

"Congratulations are in order then."

"About what?"

"Landing a job?" Matt answered with a smile.

"Who knows, we might even get to work together some day."

"I'm always willing to help the innocents John, you know that."

* * *

 _End part 1 - tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, John had bid farewell to the Tower and its inhabitants. He certainly left with more possessions than he had on the way in. A small duffel bag carried his clothes and the medicine he would still need to take for some time.

Matt had made sure his apartment still belonged to him and had even arranged for a cleaning crew to prepare the place for his return. John hadn't worried about his weapons stash. He knew without a doubt that Shaw had taken care of those after his death.

Entering the large living room and its huge windows had been quite pleasant, but he didn't linger. He had a visit to pay to a special address.

Following the information sent by "Thornhill", he entered a building, followed a hallway and passed several doors with codes only a computer could have come up with. He went down a final flight of stairs. On the right, a corridor opened onto a brightly lit room. He moved in that direction and froze. The cold metal of a gun had been placed on his neck. He rose his hands slowly.

"Shaw. I know you shot me the first time we met. But I really thought you had gotten over the bad habit of pointing a gun at me since then."

Before Shaw had started to work with them, each time their paths had crossed, Shaw had always pointed a gun at him. It was a good thing she had only shot him the first time. Vests stopped bullets, but the impact was still painful.

Bear had rushed to meet him and was barking happily, jumping to try and lick his face. Obviously, the joy of seeing his master was stronger than his military training.

"And in case you have any doubts on my real identity, Bear seems to be convinced."

"Bear, affligen!" Shaw ordered in a dry tone.

Bear whined softly, but went to lie down on his blanket, his head turned toward John.

The silence lingered, the weapon didn't move an inch.

"Still not convinced I shouldn't shoot," Shaw mused, clearly enjoying the situation. "I do have a few reasons to do so. The fact that you are apparently alive even though we buried your body, having kept silent for almost ten months, entering our new HQ as if you belonged there…"

The weapon moved minutely. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Not mentioning that you knew Daredevil…"

John frowned. How did Shaw know about that?

"Meeting him at your funeral was quite a surprise."

John smoothed back a smile. Matt hadn't mentioned that meeting.

"Shaw, how about you consider the different options once I put my arms down? I've been a convalescent for quite a long time and this position isn't that comfortable."

Shaw reacted immediately. She put the gun away and caught John's elbow to lead him toward a couch where she forced him down. A hand on his wrist, the other on his face she checked his pulse and his pupils. John refrained from any comment. Shaw had taken his unexpected return quite well, he wasn't about to complain.

She gave a satisfied groan and stepped back. "You seem to be doing okay."

"Yes, thank you. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health a few weeks ago now."

Sameen crossed her arms watching him. "So you are alive," she stated the obvious.

"Apparently."

Bear came back with a plush toy and placed it carefully on John's knees, then laid down by his side, his muzzle over John's shoes.

Shaw laughed.

"Now, that's a welcome. I'll have you know that that frog is his favorite toy. No one can even get near it. Giving it to you must be the greatest gift he could think of."

She turned her gaze to the dog. "Ungrateful pup," she complained. Turning back her eyes to John, she added, "you've always been his favorite."

"I was his master," John reminded her.

"Don't I know it. I almost lost him. Getting over your death was tough."

John was watching Shaw closely. He knew how feelings were not her thing; he wasn't surprised she hadn't shown more happiness at seeing him alive. He couldn't help teasing her a bit; he was far too glad to see her again.

"Didn't you miss me?"

Shaw frowned, as if faced with an impossible problem. She sat by his side on the couch.

"First Root, then you. Finch leaving too…" She kept her eyes on the wall on the other side of the room, clearly upset by the situation.

"Sameen," John said softly. "I would have contacted you earlier if I had could; but I wasn't really in good shape."

"I bet… Picking up the pieces after being blown up by a missile is quite a feat." She looked at him. "How did you manage that?"

"Long story…"

"That you are going to share. I can still shoot you," she threatened.

John had a silent laugh. From Shaw, the sentence meant, "I'm glad to see you back."

"Apparently, you were upset I didn't tell you about Daredevil…"

"Yeah, that's a story for another day. For now, I want to know how you survived a missile."

"By not being there when it impacted."

"So you can fly now?"

"I can't. Ironman, on the other hand…" John left it at that, waiting for her reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Shaw's eyes widened. She was clearly thunderstruck as her mouth opened a couple of time yet finding herself incapable of uttering a word. She swallowed visibly and finally managed to talk.

"I hate you. Most people don't even get to see one superhero. And you just happen to meet two of them."

John cleared his throat discreetly.

"No. No…," Shaw fumbled, suddenly realizing the place Ironman had obviously taken him to.

She watched him in silence. John shrugged an apology. She rose suddenly and started pacing.

"Did you see them all?" she asked almost reverently.

John nodded, amused by her reaction. They had never addressed the Avengers topic, but it was evident Shaw admired then just as any other New York citizen.

She stopped her pacing and turned around to look at him.

"No wonder they managed to get you back on your feet. Those guys have techniques that would make the best hospital weep."

"And even for them, it was a close call for a while. My odds of survival were really low when I got there."

"I would love to see the x-rays and scanners of what they did…" Although she hadn't been a doctor in a long time, she was still quite curious about surgical procedures.

"It shouldn't be a problem."

As a matter of fact, getting Shaw's professional opinion interested him. He knew that, unlike any other doctor, she wouldn't mince her words and tell him the full truth about his health and what to expect in the long run.

"You've been at the Tower the whole time?"

"Yes."

Shaw observed him silently, remembering his injuries after Carter's death; how he had barely survived but had vanished as soon had he had been able to stand. Spending so many months in Stark's building could only prove that he had been in worse shape…

Then she understood. He did not like being dependent on friends nor imposing on them. At the Tower, there were only strangers, in a world that thought him dead. He didn't need to spare anyone's feelings.

John bent over to scratch Bear's head. The Malinois rose to his feet and started to lick his face. Bear's joy knew no bound.

"Enough, Bear. Sit now!" he finally ordered.

The dog sat immediately but his tail kept moving at his back. John brushed his ears one last time and got up to explore his surroundings.

A disused bank… The very same whose floor he had helped blow up. Obviously the owners had not anticipated that anyone would enter the premises and had closed business. The bad publicity probably hadn't helped either and the building had remained unoccupied until The Machine had somehow found a way to purchase the place. Finch would have never bought a building with so many dark memories. The days following that number had been among the worst in John's life, first Rikers, then the bomb vest…

The computers had been set up in the basement. The reinforced safety was a clear advantage, and there was more than one entrance. Even if John was personally responsible for one of the openings.

Shaw was watching John as he moved around the room. His gait was fluid and a stranger wouldn't have noticed the difference, but she had known him for years. He had lost that cat like grace that defined him. The best doctors and prostheses in the world would never replace a real body.

"You do exercise daily, right?" she asked, the doctor taking precedence for a minute.

John turned around and raised an eyebrow with an amused smile. Shaw had an angry look on her face and John dropped the amusement.

"Yes, doctor," he answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm still hoping to get back my full mobility."

"It's not…"

Talking to patients had never been Shaw's strong suit. But this was John, a friend. Seeing his face stopped her next remark. No need repeating what the doctors had probably already told him, that he would never recover a hundred percent.

"Ready to come back to work with us?" she asked instead.

"Us?" he asked in surprise. "How many are you?"

"Not enough, believe me. The Washington team that you know. And Bear and I here in New York. Roots' geeks take care of the IT part…"

"They come to work here?"

"No, they don't. They do drop by now and then, but they don't need to be here in person. As long as they have a computer and internet access…"

John stopped in front of the open door of the safe. Shaw had turned the place into a military arsenal. The weapons were neatly arranged. She could probably take over a small country, or maybe not that small a country. He recognized some of his own weapons.

"Some of that stuff is mine," he commented. Shaw raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he shrugged. "Thornhill got you a nice hideout."

"Thornhill?"

"The Machine."

"I know. It's just… I never use that name…"

"She used it as identity when she called me."

"She called you?" Shaw repeated eyes wide.

"How do you think I found this place?"

"Like any decent agent, by spying on me."

"Outdated. Why bother, when an omniscient Machine can just tell you?"

"Never thought I'd see the day you would channel Root…" Shaw winced. The death of the young woman had affected her more than she was ready to admit, or capable of dealing with.

John didn't reply. They had all been affected when the Machine had chosen Root's voice to communicate.

"Are you coming back to work the numbers?" Shaw asked clearly.

"You had any doubts?"

"Finch isn't around anymore…"

"Are you writing the checks?"

"Finances are not lacking if that worries you."

"I have few needs."

"You still have your flat?" Shaw asked, the hint of a smile creeping on her lips.

"I do…" John answered in a cautious tone.

Shaw smile widened. "Good. It means Bear keeps living here. »

"He is still my dog," John countered.

"Yeah, sure, if you say so…"

Having heard his name, Bear had come by their side. He gave them both a lick and sat in front of them.

"No cheating by giving him absurd dinosaur sized bones," John warned.

"He's smart. He'll make the right choice."

"So, you've got a new number?"

"About time you asked."

* * *

John slowed his jog down to a brisk walk. He breathed out deeply.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to keep up a swift rhythm. He should not be that tired from the few miles he had covered.

Not that long ago, that would have been the warm up phase.

Of course, not that long ago he had been blown to pieces.

Not that long ago, he was still stuck in a wheel chair…

The rational part of his brain knew he needed to give it time. The less rational part was starting to think that time was taking far too long.

Slowing down, his breath almost back to normal, he observed the park around him. Surveillance was so deeply embedded it had become a reflex. Some joggers, mothers with their baby buggies, tourists. The typical park population during the day.

The uneven step of a person caught his eye. Apparently, John wasn't the only one having problems with his body. The man turned toward the path on the right. John saw the white stick first… then the familiar face.

 _Matt._

John couldn't help a frown. He had already seen Matt go through quite a few ordeals in the past, but the young man seemed a breath away from breaking down.

He walked to him slowly and called him from a distance. He absolutely didn't want to surprise the young lawyer. Matt might react instinctively and hurt himself in the process. John knew exactly how their bodies responded despite not necessarily being ready for it.

"Hello Matt!"

The lawyer stopped and turned toward the voice, a smile on his lips.

"John. I wasn't expecting to see you around." He bent his head slightly, that typical movement that indicated that he was studying the environment. "Happy to see you're doing better."

"Not really." John's answer was a bit dryer than it should have been. "But you look worse than I did when I got blown up by a missile." The comment might have been a bit straightforward, but close to the truth. Matt looked scary.

"At least you were smart enough to be on the top of the building when it went down," Matt mumbled. He started walking. "Do you mind if we keep moving? I need to exercise."

A building going down, John mused. The media had intensively covered the Midland Circle incident a few weeks back. John's past had taught him to identify blurred truths. He had never believed to the earthquake theory; nor that the rebuilding works had weakened the ground and had caused the building to crumble, which in turn had stabilized the terrain.

"Okay, I'll bite… How do you escape from a fifty-story building falling on your head? I know first-hand that your armor isn't that resistant."

"Long story."

"Never doubted it."

They walked in silence a moment until John couldn't stand his friend's muffled pained breaths any more. He knew Matt would probably have kept going until falling flat on his face.

"Matt, could we sit down for a moment? I still haven't got all my strength back. I only ran a few miles, but I feel like I have run a marathon."

Matt's amused smile told John he hadn't been very subtle, but he still let John direct them to the nearest bench. He could not hide his relieved sigh though.

"So, that long story…" He was curious. He wouldn't deny it. And Matt had admitted to being hurt in the explosion.

"Don't you have some number to save?" Matt asked, hiding the word number behind a hand.

"Not today. Actually, Shaw is taking care of most of the work. With the best will in the world I am still not strong enough in some situations."

"At least, you can run."

"Dear lord, what happened to you?"

"You're not going to drop this one, are you?"

"Not a chance. You were by my side when I needed help. My turn now." Matt's presence by his side after the accident had indeed been precious, even if John found it hard to admit that he too could use the help of a friend.

Matt laughed softly. "Next time, I'll let Tony deal with you by himself."

"I'm not that eager for a repeat…"

"Who knows? If people can come back to life, why not AIs?"

"People don't come back from the dead, Matt. Whatever your religion says."

"Said by the very one who rose from the dead."

"Said by the one who pretended to be dead."

"Everyone thought I was dead for a few weeks."

"Exactly what I said. _Not_ dead."

"We did bury Elektra…"

Elektra. The ex-girlfriend. The _dead_ ex-girlfriend. John had met Matt the day of the funeral. His friend was so depressed drinking alcohol mid-morning hadn't phased him at all.

"She still came back to try to kill me."

"Are you sure the chemicals that burned your eyes didn't affect your brain?" John had seen his share of weird things. But if one thing was fatal, it was death. Real death, of course.

"I don't know where to start."

"Usually the beginning is a good place."

"The beginning takes place a few thousand years ago."

"Then we're lucky I have lots of time."

So Matt told him an extraordinary tale, with dragons, immortal human beings, men whose skin stopped bullets, women able to hold lift cages with one hand. There were katanas and severed heads, battles thirty stories underground, unbelievable fights. And as a common denominator, a group of people linked by the love they shared for their city.

"I still don't get how you made it out of the rubble," John commented.

Matt laughed out loud, then stopped, holding his ribs.

"Don't make me laugh, it hurts," he complained. "I tell you a story that should get me committed and the only thing that has you worried is how I survived?"

"If I told my epic battle between two AIs, I'd probably get an adjoining room in the same establishment."

Matt stopped a new laugh with a grunt. "Yeah, probably."

John waited patiently.

"The dragons' skeletons formed a sort of tunnel. I had to dig quite a bit, but I reached a sewer." Matt straightened carefully. "I still don't know how I made it to the orphanage." He rose slowly. "John, I need to move, my body tends to get stiff. And this bench is far from comfortable."

John watched him as he unfolded slowly. Considering Matt had been in the accident three weeks earlier, he wasn't doing that bad. He himself had still been in coma three weeks after his own accident.

"Do your friends know you are alive?" John asked.

"What about yours?" Matt answered back.

"I asked first."

"Karen and Foggy know. And Father Lantham." Matt frowned. "Actually, I wonder if he wasn't the one to take me to the orphanage. Apparently I wasn't in my armor anymore…"

"Finch is in Italy. This is not the kind of news I feel confident sharing over a phone," John said before Matt asked him again.

"Zoe?"

John smiled. He should definitely pay her a visit.

"Then of course, she will probably punch you. Be careful," Matt joked without waiting for an answer.

"What about your new friends?"

"Not sure they are really friends…" Matt explained hesitantly.

"Colleagues?" John offered.

"People with whom I went through difficult times. We were close because we had to be at the time, then each of us went back to their own life." Matt seemed to ponder about it. "They are weird…"

"Says the guy who roams about at night in a red suit."

"They kept making jokes about my armor. I need to hide my face if I want to be able to practice as a lawyer!" Matt exploded.

"Hey! Don't blame me." John raised his hands in defence. " I saw how it protects you. I'm glad you have it."

Matt turned pleasantly surprised. "Thank you," he said glad John understood.

"Then of course, there is the matter of the horns," John muttered.

Matt opened his mouth to protest then realized John was just joking with him.

"Yes, of course, make fun of the blind guy," he answered, shaking his head. "Go visit your friend Zoe. And say hi for me."

"I will." John extended his hand, not surprised when Matt shook it. "Take care of yourself and keep me updated."

"I told you I would help you if you needed me some day…"

"For the moment, none of us can help anyone. But when the time comes…"

They went their separate ways.

John walked back to their new HQ. Even if he could not intervene physically for the moment, surveillance generally didn't require too much energy.

Matt kept just walking. He would win the battle and get all his strength back, even if he had to clench his teeth in the meantime.

* * *

As Finch had said more than once, the numbers never stopped. Unfortunately, John was in no shape to chase or fight against the nastier specimens of their work. Most of the time he just took care of surveillance then called Shaw when more muscle than usual was necessary.

These last weeks, the amount of numbers given by the Machine seemed higher than usual, but it could have been an impression due to his absence. The fact that he had to wait by the side more than once probably added to the feeling.

This afternoon, after making sure their number was safe, at least for the moment, he had decided it was high time he went to see Zoe.

He had pondered for a while as to whether this was a good idea. His meeting with Matt had been the final nudge that convinced him that he had nothing to lose. If he was honest with himself, he missed the young woman, and was looking forward to talking to her.

As he knocked on her door, he wondered how she would react. Chances were she would shut the door violently, mad at his deception. Though part of him hoped that she would happy enough to see him alive and she'd forgive him. This second option was his favorite since it would allow him to kiss her much sooner.

The door opened and Zoe froze. She lost all color and opened her mouth, then crumbled down. John just managed to catch her clothes and slow her down as her body fell heavily on the floor. Trust Zoe not to react as one had imagined.

He picked her up in his arms, pushed the door closed with his foot, and laid her on the couch. He sat by her side, brushed her hair away from her face.

"Zoe, Zoe," he called, trying to wake her up.

Leaving her for a few minutes he went to the kitchen fetch a glass of water. If needed he would splash her face with it.

The fixer opened her eyes sluggishly. She cringed back as if seeing him for the first time.

John ran the back on his fingers softly over her face.

"Easy Zoe. Breathe." He helped her sit up, keeping a hand on her back. She seemed ready to pass out again.

John picked up the glass and had her drink a few sips. Zoe swallowed and finally talked.

"John," she whispered.

The ex-agent gave her one of his rare blinding smiles. "Hello Zoe."

"John," she repeated, then her bottom lip started to shiver.

John frowned. He had never seen Zoe so disarrayed. Then of course, she had been at his funeral and had spent the last months mourning. Even a woman as strong as Zoe was bound to be a bit overwhelmed by the situation.

Against all expectations, Zoe leaned on him and started crying.

Dealing with weeping women was not a talent he had. John wrapped his arms around Zoe and patted her back clumsily.

"Hush… Everything is alright, Zoe." He tried to find words but came up blank. Communicating was definitely not his strong suit and seeing Zoe like this left him feeling totally helpless.

After a few minutes, Zoe calmed down and straightened, watching him closely.

"It is really you," she whispered as she had thought it had only been a bad dream.

"Yes." He answered softly, moving a stray hair away from her mouth.

She opened her mouth and her lips moved but no sound came out. John picked up the glass of water again.

"John, I'm going to need something much stronger than water," she said, having finally found her voice back.

He went to the bar and took a whisky bottle and two tumblers. He sat by her side again and poured the drinks.

"I had considered several hypotheses on your reaction. I'll admit seeing you faint wasn't one of them."

"Faint?" Zoe repeated dumbfounded. "Do you think that I'm some dainty lady from the south? John, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

She grabbed John's arm as if she still needed proof that he was indeed by her side. She accepted the glass and emptied it. John raised an eyebrow. He had been quite generous when pouring.

"What?" Zoe spat. "If you can pretend to be dead for almost a year, I believe I'm entitled to get drunk when you show up."

John silently refilled the glass.

* * *

Later John came to think that the reason he hadn't noticed the quantity of recurrent numbers was because of the sheer amount of numbers given by the Machine.

He was currently running six numbers at the same time, glad he had recovered almost completely or he would never have been able to shoulder that much work. Shaw had her plate full too, the long hours and seemingly unending flow making her look angrier than ever.

So when she called him late in the afternoon, he didn't bother to say hello.

"Shaw, if you're calling to tell me we have a new number, you're not going to like my answer."

"I could lie. It has never bothered me much," Shaw answered without a hint of humor. "Of course, it doesn't change the situation."

John closed his eyes and breathed out deeply. They couldn't go on like this. Long days and long nights were one thing. Going on forever would be fatal at some point. They were bound to make mistakes or worse find themselves in a deadly situation.

"Time to call for reinforcements I think, Shaw."

"What? Lionel doesn't know you're back."

"I'll do some recruiting." And John ended the call without giving any more details.

He knew Matt would be glad to help them if he could. He had been following his actions through the press and had been relieved when Daredevil started to make the news now and then. It meant that he had recovered from his injuries and was back out in the field. He also knew that the stories that made the headlines were only a small part of Matt's work. Hopefully he could spare some time to help them manage the numbers.

Finding him during the day was not a problem. Spotting him in the night might prove trickier. Even if Hells' Kitchen wasn't a huge area, it still covered quite a number of blocks. Relying on luck to help him was bound to be a long process.

Thankfully, The Machine was now more helpful when tasked with special questions. Of course, cameras pointed to the streets, not the roofs, so it might take some time, but Daredevil did fight on street level. Having asked Thornhill to spot Daredevil for him, John waited while checking on another number.

* * *

Matt rolled back to his feet and caught the baton at his side. He was fighting some nasty drug dealer's minion. Matt had been following him for a couple of days and had decided to catch the guy and "convince" him to talk. It had proven more complicated than anticipated.

Either the man didn't know when to quit or he was using his boss' products. Matt was breathing hard from the fight but the henchman kept fighting back. He threw his baton barely slowing the guy down. Maybe he hadn't read the man's size properly, though he would be surprised. He had thrown quite a few punches; he had felt the body up close.

Some foot scraping on the ground told him they now had a witness. He fervently hoped it wasn't some "fan" trying to get a look at Hell's Kitchen night time vigilante. He certainly didn't enjoy the publicity the press seemed keen on giving him.

Two gun shots made him jump in surprise but didn't prevent him from hearing the man's screams and the noise of the body falling to the ground. The bystander apparently hadn't been happy with just watching, but Matt wasn't sure he wouldn't be the next to be shot at. He jumped back behind a dumpster. His talents were no match for bullets.

"You can come out, I won't shoot you."

"John?" he asked bewildered.

"Yes."

Matt exhaled loudly, trying to get his breath back, and fighting the adrenaline down.

"I hope you don't mind my intervention, but I'm sure he deserves it," John commented.

"Shooting people is not the solution, John."

"Oh come on. You beating him to pulp would have landed him in the hospital anyway."

Matt winced. John was probably the only person who could make him feel bad about this. Matt had principles. He didn't kill people; he didn't use guns. Some other vigilante had pointed out that the injuries he sometimes he inflicted on his victims were no less life threatening than bullet wounds. Still having someone throw it at his face so plainly was not easy to accept.

"I was hoping to convince him to lead me to his boss."

"Drugs?" John asked.

"Yes. To kids! In a school," Matt spat.

"Okay. Let's see if I can help you convince him then."

John had kept an eye on the downed guy, but he knew he wouldn't go far even if he had been able to move. Knee wounds were not lethal but did effectively stop most people.

Both Matt and John stood over the man who shrank back, clearly hoping he could dissolve in the ground.

"A name and you'll only need crutches instead of a wheelchair."

Matt almost complained, but he knew most of the time, a threat was as efficient as real action.

"Leeds, Alistair."

John gestured with his gun, silently prompting for details.

"Consultant company on 55th." Eyes fixed on the gun still aimed at his remaining working knee, he quickly revealed everything he knew about the operation.

"See? Not that difficult." John turned his head to Matt. "I need to talk to you, don't leave." He turned back to the guy on the ground. "Get that knee fixed and make sure I never see you in town again."

He put his gun in his back and put a hand to Daredevil's arm leading him out of the alley.

Knowing that Matt favored rooftops, and spotting a convenient location, John climbed up a ladder sure that he would be followed.

"Thank you," Matt said.

"You're welcome. Watching you getting hurt is not a show I enjoy. And anyway I needed to talk to you, so I just sped the whole thing up."

"Leeds…"

"We'll take care of him, don't worry. We'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone again."

"Someone else will replace him."

"I'll make sure that group is put out of commission. Of course, it will only be a question of time before a new boss turns up."

Matt grunted. Fighting crime was a never-ending process.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Some time ago you told me you would be glad to help us."

"Certainly. What can I do?"

"It's not that simple. We are being drowned in numbers and are seriously shorthanded. I was wondering if for a while you would be willing to help us."

"Fighting crime with a precise objective versus just acting on the spot. It does seem more efficient. As long as I can still help the random victims."

"Matt! I'm just asking for some help, not telling you what to do!"

Matt froze at the tone. John pinched his lips.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap," John apologized. "We never had that many numbers all at once, not even when we were taking HR down."

"When was the last time you slept in a bed?" Matt asked guessing John was beyond tired.

"A bed? I'm not sure I remember what one of those even looks like," John answered trying to bring some levity to the conversation.

"Yeah, thought so. As I told you before, I'll happily help you guys. Just call me when you need me, I'll be there."

"Thanks."

"And when this is over, we could have a drink. We don't do that often; I really enjoy those times."

"It's a deal."

* * *

Then, one day, several weeks later, Leon and Zoe's numbers came up together. John's heart gave a jump and he almost rushed out to assist the young woman without a second thought. Then he watched the stack of files from the previous weeks. Shaw had just been dropping them in a basket once they were done with them.

This wasn't the first time they had to deal with repeat numbers. Pushing down his worry, John started sorting the files. The "new" numbers on one side, the ones he was sure he had already seen in the past on a different tray. He made a third pile with those he wasn't sure. He couldn't remember all the people he had helped during the last six years; and when Shaw had started working with them, he had not always paid much attention to her cases.

The pile of new numbers was high; obviously crime knew no rest.

The stack of repeat numbers was easily double size. Some numbers dated from way back. One of the numbers had even been dead when it came up. That had already happened, and John had been declared dead more than once, so it had not raised any flags. But that amount of repeat numbers was not normal; even if some people could to be unlucky. Leon being the living proof of it.

He was observing the stacks deep in thought when Shaw arrived.

"You're cleaning up?" the young woman asked, giving a last lick to an ice cream.

"Not really."

"Wow! I knew we were busy but I hadn't realized we had had that many numbers." She got closer to the table. "What's with the piles?"

"The biggest one is numbers that we already had in the past." He gave her the pictures of Leon and Zoe. "These two arrived a little while ago."

"What new mess has Leon got into now?" Shaw grumbled. "Since, unlike Zoe, he still believes you're dead, I guess I get to take care of him." She studied the pile anew. "Is it me or don't you find it weird to get that many repeat numbers?"

"And there's more. Check the cases. In most of them we haven't been able to identify the threat. »

"And since we were so busy, we were just happy about it," Shaw concluded. She turned to look at the monitors. "What's wrong with you?" she asked the Machine.

"Where's Finch when we need him?" John corrected. He went toward the exit. "I'll go make sure there's no real threat against Zoe. You watch Leon."

"Enjoy your evening!" Sameen shouted after him with a knowing smile.

* * *

"Root's geeks" as Shaw used to call them were contacted to identify the problem, but all their searching didn't get them any closer to an answer. The numbers kept coming. Yet, now they checked for repeat numbers discarding them or at least running a quick check to put them aside, waiting for the "bug" to be solved.

A few days later, John entered the room to find Shaw harboring a sinister face. More than usual. She pointed to the screen when he got by her side.

 _Grace_.

John couldn't help a wave of worry, before he decided it wasn't possible. Grace was in Italy. Their system only gave them local numbers.

"Okay, that's it! I'll go get Finch. His baby needs some serious spanking."

"You're going… to Italy? Shaw stuttered.

"Yes. Do what it takes to have Her tell you where her creator lives. I'll get in the next plane."

He had vanished before Shaw could wish him a good flight.

* * *

End part 2 – tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Harold was sitting at a coffee terrace. Against all expectations, he was savoring an expresso. He still preferred green tea, but he had to admit that Italian coffee was really delicious.

Grace was giving a painting class and would be out in half an hour. He hadn't told her that he would be waiting for her. Still, from his position he couldn't miss her when she left the school. Almost a year now since he had found her, and still he loved surprising her with little signs of affection. Waiting for her after her work, waking her up with breakfast in bed and a rose. Nothing would ever repair all the wrong he had done to her, but he could still try.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He frowned. Very few people had his number.

When he had left the United States, after the death on his only friend, he hadn't kept in touch. Shaw was the only one to know he had made it out alive from their last battle; she would die with the secret. He missed Bear…

Unidentified caller. He was going to ignore the call, then accepted it. He was in a pleasant mood. He wondered what the telemarketer would try to sell him this time.

"Hello Finch." said a voice like velvet.

Harold froze, almost dropping his phone in the process. The voice belonged to a dead man. He opened his mouth to answer but he realized he had lost his voice. He swallowed and tried again. The craziest thoughts went through his brain. Once in the past, a dead woman had called him… or rather the voice of a dead woman.

"John?" he asked tentatively. He couldn't begin to fathom why the Machine would use the ex-agent's voice to call him.

"Yes."

Probably for the first time in his life, he was left speechless. What were you supposed to say when your best friend, who had died in front of you, called you on your phone?

"How…"

John laughed silently. "It's a long story."

"I don't doubt that for a second."

"I'll have to admit though, it's worth rising up from the dead to see you drink coffee. That's a bet I would have never taken."

Finch shot up from his chair. John could see him? The sudden gesture had him stagger while the chair fell to the ground. A hand caught his elbow with care and helped him find his balance back. Harold swivelled around.

John was in front of him, a hesitant smile on his lips. Harold didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry; he ended up doing something he never did. He hugged John fiercely, not bothering to hide the tears that came to his eyes.

Slightly embarrassed by the show of affection, John returned the hug briefly but kept a friendly hand on the back of his friend. After a moment, Finch stepped back and stared at John, still dumbfounded by his reappearance.

"I always knew you were one of a kind, John. I'm really glad I had you kidnapped that night…"

That night… Over six years ago, when Finch had decided, that John would, willingly or not, help him take care of the irrelevant numbers.

"I'm very glad too Harold..." John answered giving him one of his rare blinding smiles.

Finch had kept a hand on John's arm. He was now checking him thoroughly.

"You seem to be doing well."

"I was very lucky and also helped by quite a unique medical team."

"Probably the understatement of the year." Harold breathed out deeply. "John, I was really convinced you were dead. How did you survive the explosion?"

"As I said, it's a long story."

"Well then, it's a good thing I'm a retired teacher. I have plenty of time."

"Grace?" John asked almost hesitantly.

Finch checked his watch. Grace was about to come out of the school. Anyway, an Italian terrace was probably not the best place to tell what was bound to be a very strange story.

"I told Grace everything when I found her."

"Everything?" John repeated, slightly surprised.

"It was the least I could do."

John nodded in agreement.

"Grace is giving painting classes at the school. She's be out shortly. We'll go home, it will be quieter. I hope you haven't booked a hotel room. Grace will never allow you to sleep anyplace that isn't our guest room."

Harold watched the ground, checking for an improbable duffel bag. "I don't see any luggage, but I do know you travel light…"

John had left a bag at the lockers of the train station. He did travel "light" as Harold put it, but he still had some medicine he needed to take, so travelling with no luggage was not possible anymore. The Machine had helped him locate Finch in Italy, but he hadn't checked in any hotel yet.

"I'll be glad to stay at your place."

Finch nodded in satisfaction and sat back down happy that the point had been settled. John sat in front of him.

"You don't drink tea anymore?" he asked pointing to the cup.

"Yes I do, I'm a tea lover at heart. But I do appreciate an expresso now and then." He motioned the waiter. "You should taste it; you'll see for yourself, it's a real pleasure."

John raised an eyebrow in wonder.

"Oh, of course." Finch realized. "This is not your first trip to Italy."

"But I've seldom had the time to enjoy myself sipping expressos on a terrace." He ordered a coffee and watched Finch in silence. "You look… happy," he said finally deciding what description applied the best.

"Not so much happy, as…." Finch seemed to look for the right word, "at peace. The weight of some secrets is a heavy load to carry."

John acquiesced. He knew the feeling.

"But of course, you know exactly what I mean," Finch added.

A few moments later, John didn't need to turn around to know that Grace had come out of the school. Finch's face blossomed. Instead of the raging pain that covered his face every time he saw her in New York, John could see all the happiness of a man who had found his true love.

Harold rose and waved to Grace who answered with a smile and came to the table. She frowned when she recognized John.

"Detective…" She stopped and looked at her companion. "Harold, should I expect new revelations?" She sounded more curious than worried.

When Finch had left New York, he had abandoned everything. He hadn't kept any documents, no pictures. He had talked about John to Grace, of course, but had never shown her a photograph. She hadn't realized that she had met him, under a different name, a very long time ago when John checked her up, while spying on his employer.

"Nothing serious, don't worry." Finch cast an eye to John. "Quite the contrary as a matter of fact."

* * *

The three of them had spent a good part of the evening talking. They had picked up John's bag from the locker, then the couple had settled him in the guest room, almost ordering him to rest. John had to admit that the long shower had felt wonderful. The transatlantic redeye flight, even in business class, had been tiring.

Grace prepared a delicious light dinner, and John had answered truthfully to the questions the woman had about some shady areas of Finch's tale. When he had apologized about his silence on some topics, Grace had stopped him, arguing that John's secrets were his own, not Harold's to reveal.

John couldn't help feeling a deep sorrow watching the exchange between the two lovers. Finch had lost so many years of happiness…

The following morning Grace had vanished right after breakfast, explaining she had a museum to visit.

"She seemed quite eager to see that exhibition," John noticed.

"Indeed." Finch answered with an amused smile. "So, to what do we owe your visit John?"

John raised an innocent eyebrow.

"Grace isn't that gullible, neither am I. We have worked too closely for a long time."

A light smile graced John's lips.

"I assume you know the Machine is still working?"

"I thought She probably was." Seeing John's surprise, he explained. "When I saw Miss Shaw, for the last time, at your funeral, She hadn't contacted anyone yet."

Yet, thought John, she had acted immediately after her victory against Samaritan in order to save his life. She had also called him during his time at the Tower. Apparently, she had noted that Finch didn't want to hear about her anymore. However, she had given John the data to find Harold in Italy when asked.

"She seems to have accepted the fact that you do not wish her to contact you anymore."

"Although She told you how to find me."

"You're her creator, Harold."

"She keeps giving you numbers," Finch guessed.

"She does. And it's the reason for my visit. For the past weeks, she's been giving us an increasing amount of numbers… that we already had in the past."

"I doubt they are all in danger. Unless of course, if Mr. Tao is in the lot."

"Leon has come up. Shaw spent two days cursing him. I took care of Miss Morgan's number personally." he added with a knowing smile.

"So Mr. Tao still thinks you're dead, but you are visiting Miss Morgan again. Is that wise?" Finch teased him.

"And one of our last numbers was Grace's…"

"Hence your visit?" Finch guessed. "I doubt she is in any real danger though," he added with a frown.

"What's wrong with your baby Harold?"

"No idea," the genius mumbled.

"We can't keep up, Finch. I already asked Matt to help us, but we cannot watch all the numbers. And we might miss a real number because we're trying to cover too much ground at the same time."

"Matt? Mr. Murdock?"

"Daredevil to be more precise."

"Maybe it's time for you to tell me exactly how you made it alive from that rooftop?"

The evening before they had had enough topics of discussion for John to be able to redirect and not comment on his mysterious recovery. Finch hadn't insisted, and Grace had probably read between the lines understanding that discussion wasn't on the table.

"I was wondering when you would finally ask."

"Now, apparently," Finch answered.

The tale of his ten months at the tower took a greater part of the morning. When it was finished Finch rose.

"Let's go out for a walk. You need to exercise your body." Finch talked from experience and John followed him gracefully.

They walked in silence, just enjoying each other's company. Finch stopped on a bridge, admiring the view.

"You want me to go to New York to check what's wrong with the Machine?" he said, not looking at John.

"Please."

"I will go but only to work out and fix the problem if I can. As I told you yesterday John, I'm retired."

"I'd never ask you to leave Grace, Harold."

"It's going to feel so cold…." Finch grumbled, shivering in anticipation.

* * *

The flight back was uneventful. Finch had gotten rid of his different safe houses to delete his existence, and John naturally invited him to stay at his place.

Harold had entered the loft, then stood, unmoving, in the middle of the room.

"Harold?" John worried by his side.

Finch shook his head. "I'm fine. This is just on the borderline of surreal. I never thought I would see this place again."

"Honestly, me neither…. Matt took care of the paperwork while I was still recovering at the Tower."

"It seems you've become quite close to Mr. Murdock."

"He has been the only friendly face during some very long months, Harold."

"Yes, of course." Finch waved away the misunderstanding and gave him a smile. "I'm glad you weren't alone while recovering. »

They allowed themselves some time to freshen up after the long flight, then went to the new HQ.

"The location will be familiar." John warned him as they approached.

When Finch recognized the bank, he paled visibly. "Indeed," he whispered.

"Your Machine has a weird sense of humor, Finch." Shaw greeted him as she came up to meet them.

Neither being good at expressing feelings, the arrival of an overexcited Bear put an end to the uncomfortable silence.

"He missed you," Shaw explained.

"I missed him too," Finch answered, scratching a spot behind an ear that he knew the dog favored.

The genius looked around the room with a frown. This place reminded him of a dark time during his collaboration with John. Of course, the personal feelings of Her creator had not been taken into account when the Machine had looked for a new place for Her team. Finch went toward the keyboard and Shaw ran to remove some candy bars wrappings. She quickly cleaned the place with an embarrassed face. Finch had not been around, but the Machine was still his, even though she had been the one in charge for almost a year.

Harold stroke a few lines, then straightened.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked.

"Hello Harold," Root's voice answered. "It's been a long time."

"It has."

"I duly noted you did not want me to contact you."

Finch opened his mouth to answer, then thought better. His reasons were his own. He didn't have to justify himself to a computer, no matter how powerful or smart.

"You have been giving numbers that have already come up in the past, and it appears that they are not relevant at this time. Why?"

The Machine kept silent. Raising a surprised eyebrow Finch typed a few lines on the keyboard. Behind him, John and Shaw watched in silence. Harold turned around with a questioning face.

Shaw was the first to react.

"I'll go check the last repeat number," she said in a rush. "Just in case."

John watched her dash away as if guilty with an amused smile. He went toward the door at a slower pace.

"Thank you, John." Harold said softly.

John turned around and nodded. He understood the full meaning behind the simple words. That he was leaving Finch to work in peace didn't have anything to do with it. Thank you for saving my life, thank you for sacrificing yourself to save my creation, thank you for being alive, thank you for keeping my dream alive, thank you for giving me the opportunity to see it going on once more… All the words that neither would be able to express.

"My pleasure, Harold." John said simply.

He whistled to call Bear, but the Malinois just watched him before he settled at Finch's feet. John was his master but ensuring Finch's protection had always been his first duty.

"So, what is wrong with you?" Harold mumbled to the computer.

* * *

When John came back a few hours later, Finch hadn't moved from his chair.

"Harold, I didn't go all the way to Italy to see you slave away at your computer."

Finch raised his head and winced. John rushed forward.

"I'm fine," Harold said with a wave of his hand. "It's just been a long time since I spent so much time sitting in front of a keyboard. My back is just reminding me that it doesn't enjoy it."

"Let's go then. You must be exhausted. Between the flight and jetlag, I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep in your chair."

"Nothing like a good IT issue to keep you awake."

"She driving you crazy?"

"To say the least."

"She's still not explaining why She is giving repeat numbers?"

"Everything seems to work just fine. She sends the numbers because something triggers them; she actually has no reason not to give them to us."

"But you agree with us that such an amount is not normal."

"Definitely." Finch turned toward the keyboard and John bent over to switch a dial.

"John!" Harold complained watching the dark screen.

"Tomorrow, Harold," John explained softly. "We're going out for dinner now. I asked someone to join us."

* * *

The "mysterious" guest was Matt Murdock. When John had reached out to him in the afternoon to let him know that Finch was in New York, Matt hadn't needed his gifts to know how glad John was. He had accepted the dinner invitation immediately. Now that he "knew", the conversation with both men was probably going to be interesting, and certainly much easier than in the past when there were huge areas of mystery covering their lives.

The evening was pleasant, and they enjoyed each other's presence. Finch had cut most ties with New York so Matt's stories proved to him that nothing had changed in the city. He was glad Team Machine wasn't the only one protecting the citizens.

Matt listened with undisguised curiosity how Finch had gone back to Grace. That the painter could accept him back in her life after years of lies gave Matt hope for his relationship with Karen.

They were enjoying a last drink, when Finch turned to John.

"I realize I never asked how Ironman happened to be close to you. It sounds like a huge stroke of luck."

"Nothing to do with luck," Matt answered with a small laugh.

"Your Machine contacted Tony Stark's one and..."

"Jarvis?" Harold interrupted.

"John, I believe the word you're looking for is "hacked"," Matt chimed in.

John watched both men for a second a smile threatening to cross his lips. The three of them would make a hell of team if they ever happened to work together…

"Once she destroyed Samaritan, she entered Stark's computer system and directed Ironman, who was testing a new function in his armor, toward the building. Stark then complained to me about the breach in the security system… and congratulated your Machine on the feat. He was half mad and half impressed that anyone could get through his security protocol."

"We can only be glad that his system is on the good guys side. It seems his is almost as good as yours right?" Matt asked.

"Not exactly. We're not talking about the same kind of system here..."

And Finch launched on an explanation of how his AI worked much to the surprise of John who had never seem him that willing to talk about his creation.

* * *

The following morning, John got up early as usual, only to find that Finch had beat him and was deep in thought by the window.

"Jet lag bothering you Finch?" After all, it wasn't that early for Harold whose body was still on European time.

"I was wondering if Jarvis was not the reason for the repeat numbers."

"How so?"

"If someone had breached through my security walls and been able to feed information, I would definitely return the favor and check on the hacker." He said the word with distaste. Considering his machine as a hacker was not a pretty thought.

"And?" John prompted softly.

"I need a computer," Finch answered getting up, answering his own thoughts rather than John's question.

"What about breakfast?" John offered.

"I'm sure Miss Shaw has a well-furnished stock of edibles."

"Let me grab some shoes."

Finch had rushed to the computer barely taking the time to remove his coat. John shook his head and went to prepare a warm drink and find something to eat. Finch was right. Shaw had a pantry stocked with all sort of easy to eat food. Coffee and tea were easy. Some wrapped muffins would do.

Deep in his typing, Finch didn't even see John put a plate by his side, but John knew better than to interrupt him.

"Mr. Stark really lives up to his reputation," Finch announced after two hours. "Did you know?" he asked.

John was about to answer before he realized the question wasn't for him. Shaw had just arrived and tried to understand.

"What's going on?"

"I believe our Machine and Jarvis have been communicating."

"It's going to get interesting if they decide to have babies."

John dropped his head to watch her, raising an eyebrow. Shaw wasn't usually this cheery.

Then he frowned, suddenly understanding the probable reason for this unusual display, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that Finch wasn't staying with them.

"Finch?" John prompted approaching the genius.

"I have found the answer to your problem," Finch explained straightening. He picked up the mug by his keyboard and made a face when the found out the tea had long gone cold.

"I never doubted you Harold."

"When you told me that Jarvis was behind your perfectly timed rescue, I suspected he might be the root of the problem. It was quite natural that he tried to find out who had been able to hack him. Our system being what it is, Jarvis couldn't manage to find answers. He turned then to what seemed the common denominator of our action: the numbers. Which actually triggered our system to a potential threat against individuals."

"There wasn't anything wrong with the Machine. She detected unusual activity around the numbers and therefore communicated them to us," Shaw concluded.

"Exactly."

"Do you have a way to stop it? John enquired.

"Already taken care of."

"You contacted Stark?"

"No, I asked the Machine to contact Jarvis. They can use their own language and reach an agreement much faster."

"Told you, babies," Shaw repeated to John. Then took the mug and went toward their mini-kitchen corner to prepare a new tea for Finch.

Harold turned a questioning face to John.

"She's glad you're back," John explained.

"I'm not back, John."

"I know," John clarified.

"I'm going to miss when she spied on me… " Explaining to Shaw that he was going back to Italy was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

"I used to spy on you too, Harold."

"Root kidnaped me the first time we met."

"Shaw shot me."

"Lionel tried to kill you too…" Finch added with a smile, amused by the turn the conversation had taken.

"I've been shot at a lot," John dismissed with a shrug. The way their relationships had evolved could fill up quite a few books. He wasn't sure he wanted to dig too deeply.

"Will you be staying for a few days or do you want me to drive you to the airport?" He asked more seriously.

"Since I'm here, I'll take care of a few loose ends before I leave." He watched Shaw coming back to them with a cup. "And I believe it's the first time Ms Shaw has prepared tea for me. I might as well indulge myself."

* * *

John and Matt were on a rooftop. Neither would be able to say why or when it had started exactly, but it had become a habit to meet up high.

"So Finch is on his way back to Italy?" Matt asked.

It wasn't really a question; he knew John had dropped his friend at the airport earlier in the day. He also knew, that against all odds, John had probably held a little sliver of hope that Finch would change his mind.

"He found the true meaning of life for him. He's not going to let it escape again."

Grace, thought Matt. He had felt how Finch brightened when talking about her at dinner. Love was the answer. It was what his religion said. But finding it was another story. He had no idea how his relationship with Karen was going to evolve. As for John…

"Didn't find yours yet, John?" he asked. After all he seemed quite fond of Zoe.

John gave a small grunt. He knew exactly what Matt was talking about. And as for where that story was headed? He liked Zoe. A lot. He wasn't sure there was a future for them though. And he certainly didn't want to discuss it.

"Ah," sighed Matt. "We're back to our beginnings," he said as if relieved by going back to the times when conversations were full of secrecy.

"Talking about new beginnings…" John put an envelope in Matt's hand.

Matt opened it and frowned. John wasn't the kind of people to make a bad joke and slip him an envelope full of papers. Anyway bills had a special smell.

"Something Finch said, made me realize you are part of the team now."

"John, I'm not doing this for the money," Matt answered, giving him back the envelope.

"Neither am I." John pushed Matt's hand back. "But money comes handy for medical expenses, ruined clothes... And you can always give what you don't need to those who do need it." John shrugged a bit. "I do."

Matt considered in silence. The idea of getting paid to ensure some vigilante justice didn't sit well with him, but if it could help those in need maybe he could find an agreement with his conscience.

He nodded his thanks and slipped the envelope in a pocket. He turned his head suddenly.

"Duty calls," John guessed. "Go, I know how to reach you."

Matt waved a hand and ran from the roof toward the street where he had heard a scream.

John remained on the roof watching the city. The wind caught his jacket flapping it against his back.

He had often used rooftops to spy on people. But actually watching from above was different. A bit apart from it, but on the right place to intervene. He had to give it to Matt, he had found the perfect location. As for him, their new HQ wasn't bad. He'd always miss the library, but the bank was an old building, it had history and had a nice feel to it despite his first experience.

New beginnings indeed. Certainly not what he had expected his life would turn out to be. The lights of a plane crossed the sky.

"Thank you Finch," he whispered and turned to go back down to the street.

* * *

The end

* * *

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